


Watcher's Burden

by Fantine_Black



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Boarding School, British Character, Difficult Decisions, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Gen, Internal Conflict, Love/Hate, Mentor/Protégé, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Self Confidence Issues, Slayer-Watcher Relationship, Watchers Diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The jolt when Wesley first saw Faith had been one of recognition, of pieces slotting into place.</p><p>His Slayer.</p><p>His charge.</p><p>His responsibility. </p><p>And he'd always known exactly what that meant.</p><p>That does not mean that he has to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watcher's Burden

**Author's Note:**

> Set during S4's "Release". Flashbacks to S1's "Five by Five".

As he reached for it, his hand shook.

Like the day when he’d first held it.

And fucking dropped it, too.

_‘That is a Watcher’s Diary, Wesley!’_

_He finds himself on the floor, looking up at his father- what else is new- and reaching for the booklet, 9 inches high, bound in the finest calf leather. When he gets up, cradling the small tome, he still hardly dares to believe it._

_‘So I am – ’_

_‘On active Slayer duty, yes.’_

_He places the book – with due reverence – on a side table, before embracing his mother. ‘We are so very proud,’ she whispers, and Wesley glances at his father, who shrugs, but does not object._

_‘When have you heard?’_

_‘Just last night.’_

_Wesley doesn’t add: “And why haven’t they told me first?” even though he’d be within his rights to do so. His new duties, after all, mean that he now technically outranks his father. This does not seem to sit well with the senior Watcher either, because he continues:_

_‘You understand, of course, that this appointment is not entirely due to your own merits –’_

_Wesley feels his face fall, and his mother reaches for him. ‘We’re not discounting your accomplishments, darling. You’ve done well.’_

_His father clears his throat._

_‘You know what this means, don’t you? For us?’_

_Wesley tilts his head back. So father is still vying for the top job. Why he can’t just retire to his Scotch and model trains, Wesley couldn't say. But as always he answers:_

_‘Yes. Yes, of course.’_

_‘It’ll be hard work, dearest,’ his mother says. ‘Sunnydale – that wretched place is on a Hellmouth, and even two Slayers aren’t enough to keep the vampire population at bay.’_

_Wesley feels himself shiver, but says: ‘Nil desperandum, mother dear. I’m ready.’_

_‘I sincerely hope you are,’ father says. ‘That place seems to have a corrupting influence. Never mind Mr. Giles, but I’d never thought to see Gwendolyn Post stray that far.’_

Wesley laughed. Gwendolyn Post had had the decency to get herself electrocuted rather than be sacked from the Council. He, Wesley, couldn’t even manage to keep himself employed by a vampire.

His hand brushed the leather binding, and he was shocked to feel the little emblem ( _WP,_ Wyndam-Pryce, the letters wrapped up in each other like some silent mockery of his own familial reality) engraved on the spine. Pride, yes, there was no other explanation. Just once, he’d made his father proud, proud enough to give him a literal stamp of approval.

He pulled his hand back.

_For the greater good, Wesley._

No, he couldn’t do it, not to his Slayer, his Faith, perpetual screw-up, always second best, no matter her efforts.

_‘Your’ Faith? Not long ago you’ve wished her to the very depths of Hell._

He snorted. Let it not be said, then, that dreams could not come true.

A drink.

He pulled a face as the acrid liquid washed over his tongue. He’d never allowed himself the good stuff, even if he’d be much better for it. The only thing this concoction was likely to do was give him a skull-splitting headache.

He poured himself another glass.

Then he walked back to his bookshelves, took out the little book (why was it so small, had they expected his tenure to be of such short duration?), and cast a weary eye on the eager, flourishing handwriting.

 

_Acting Watcher:              Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_

_Slayers (active):              Buffy (Elizabeth?) Anne Summers_

_Faith -?_

 

He winced.

_Annoying prat._

Yet even in those early pages, he saw a preoccupation with Faith, a clear, simmering anger he ought not have felt.

And Faith, on her part, could have gone anywhere in the world – would have been wise to, in fact- yet chose to come to Los Angeles to torture him.

 Right.

 

_-Faith’s body wriggling on his lap, the revolting taste of a dirty rag in his mouth, Faith’s smile -_

_‘All these little cuts and bruises –just bring out the mother in me-’_

_Those words take him back, and they shouldn’t, it’s not the same thing…_

 

True, he’d borne her punishment well, by any standards – taken it like a gentleman, as his Headmaster would say. But there was a line, a gentleman’s agreement, so to speak, after which a thrashing lost educational value, and instead denigrated into meaningless brutality. She’d crossed it, that bitch, but no-one had taken him past that point before –

 

_-Sharp slaps to his face-_

_‘Now, now, don't poop out on me, damn it!’_

Not father’s choice of words by any means, but the sentiment was much the same – _'Focus, boy, a vampire is not going to stop because you ask him to’ –_

But it's bloody hard to focus with a Slayer in your face, taunting you -

_‘Come on, Wesley! Where’s that stiff upper lip?’_

And it’s the faux accent that does it, it all blends, Faith, father, the Academy, every bully, every prefect – it’s all the same, and he doesn’t deserve it, he’s never deserved it –

_‘You’re a piece of sh-’_

And of course he is talking to her, that dirty chav, but not just her, and it's freeing, to feel no shame, just white hot anger –

 

_‘Fate, destiny – do you ever think about that stuff?’_

How could he not?

 

_‘Admit it, Wesley, you always had the hots for me – ’_

He smirked. Faith, poppet – however hard she might find to believe it, he did not want to sleep with her. Not then, not now. The jolt when he first saw her had been one of recognition, of pieces slotting into place.

His Slayer.

His charge.

His responsibility.

Helping Angel, fighting for redemption – these things were well and good, but it wasn’t his job _._

Faith was.

And he’d always known exactly what that meant.

 

_‘It’s not your call, Wesley –’_

They’d kept saying that, when he still worked for Angel. But of course it _was_ his call. It had always been his call. From the second Buffy died, and Faith became the chosen one, he’d held the fate of the world in his hands.

And put it aside.

After all, he should have sent Faith to Sunnydale, eliminating the need to resurrect her predecessor. (How many lives, potential Slayers included, would that have ultimately spared?) Even now, he could still contact Buffy. She’d kill Angelus, she’d done it before. No drug trips necessary.

It was a sobering thought.

He stood up to get source books and spent some time checking details he already knew, or had been able to work out, on his own. Then he went back to get the diary. He stared at it a moment, but ultimately wrote:

_Location:             Los Angeles_

_Situation:            Secondary target eliminated. Slayer retrieved._

_Injury level:_

He glanced at the drops of blood on his floor.

_Grade 3._

Next to him, he heard Faith scream.

_God Almighty._

Yet he kept working, jotting down notes about strategy, doses, side effects and aftercare (if applicable). He only faltered when he described Faith’s earlier fight with the Beast.

_She’s not up to it._

Hence this plan. Angelus had to think she was weak. After all, he knew the risk of fighting a capable Slayer.

Still, he’d have to convince Faith first. Ease her into it. Show her that the drug existed and how it was used. Possibly even make her think the plan was her idea. Because whatever it did to her, Orpheus was the best way forward. If she succeeded, both she and Angel would live. Even if she were to die, another Slayer would be called, younger, inexperienced, and easier to monitor…

He kept scribbling as he heard Faith cry, only stopping after he’d heard her get out of the shower. He stared at the wall for a while, but then wrote down a few last words and pushed the diary away. When Faith walked in, dressed in the new clothes he’d laid out for her, he'd almost finished packing the supplies.

‘Come on,' she said.  'Let’s do this.’

He looked at her.

 _She does heal fast, you might just have to up the dosage_.

‘I need to know you’re in the game, Faith. All the way.’

She shrugged.

‘Five by five, boss.’

_Good girl._

He stood up and followed her out. Neither of them looked at the diary, or its concluding words.

_Faith. I’m sorry._

 

 

 


End file.
